Atop the Willow
by connorfemway
Summary: It is easy to forget reality when you travel deep into your own thoughts. Fem!Connor


"Do you ever have time to daydream? If so, what about?"

A reply to an ask on the ask blog **connorfemway** on tumblr.

In order to understand a bit of what goes on in this story, I recommend going and reading my other piece **Beneath the Willow**. For this story I don't think it's necessary since I tried to write it in a way that wouldn't make it necessary... but I dunno, it lacks a certain _something_ if you haven't read the other one, so I still highly recommend it for the full affect of this piece to be realized.

Enjoy.

* * *

Connor was the one to draw the shorter stick.

"The unlucky one," Kanen'tó:kon crushes his own stick in his hand. He stands only a foot and a half away from her, standing inches over her head. It is something that is forgotten the longer she is away from home - colonial men could hardly stand to her height, while the men of her own tribe were the only people who could stand taller than her, usually.

"Do not remind me," the Assassin does not wear her hood, nor her white garb. She wears the fur clothing of her home, her people, an outfit she hasn't had the chance to wear for years. She twirls the shortest stick in her fingers as Kanen'tó:kon turns away, tossing his broken stick into the air for his childhood friend to bat at with her unoccupied hand.

When she reaches to scratch behind her neck she feels the trail of a braid starting at the back middle of her head and ending at mid thigh. Several times she drags her hand down the length of it, fingers running over the beads with curiosity. This was a length she never had imagined would be possible for her.

Then again, there were many things about her at this moment that she had thought could never be possible.

The left hand is flexed, the bracer of the hidden blade absent. The tomahawk at her side is a simple one, the blade square in shape.

The forest smells of summer. Leaves waver in the breeze as she breathes her countdown. The native language rolls off of her tongue carrying the taste of only the sweetest honey. The feeling it brought her was unlike anything else.

This was home.

Each footstep rustles the tall grass. Fur boots trample hard-packed dirt, the crunch that echoes around her pleasing despite the objective of remaining silent. The forest is alive with movement; rabbits scurry away from her when she comes too close and birds ruffle their feathers in displeasure. Deer poke their heads up out of bushes and stare, while the foxes dig into the underbrush.

The hints are few; there is no trail to follow. Kanen'tó:kon has become crafty over the years, but this was a game Connor was determined to finish.

The tease of leaves upon her skin is soothing, surreal. The higher she climbs the heavier the force of the wind, which picks up the hair that hangs loosely in front of her forehead and carries it away from her skin. Her braid hardly moves, but when it does it is such a foreign feeling that Connor can hardly stand it.

From this height, the valley has unfolded itself before her attentive brown eyes. The village stands tall and sturdy a ways away. No flames engulf the land this time. The air is filled with the scent of the forest and the noise of the wavering trees.

The treetops are where the Assassin chooses to operate her search from. With minimal clues and no way of knowing where her friend would be, the bird's eye view above the forest floor would be the best option. Although the aim is to be stealthy, she can hardly bother to do such. The moments that pass are far too relaxing to try to focus on being a hunter or sneaking up on anybody. There is no hurry, no rush. There is only the feeling of home and friends that make Connor's lips turn up in the slightest of smiles.

Unlike during childhood, Kanen'tó:kon was not afraid to traverse the boundaries set for them as children. After wandering about the central valley, Connor makes her way through the trees up to top. When the trees are spread farther and farther apart she is forced to drop to the forest floor, paying attention only to the crunch her feet do in the underbrush.

This area is all too familiar. A trail leads up to the top of the valley. At the edge of the steep cliff that is found after a walk off the trail, Connor finds the familiar willow tree. It looks just as it had that day many years ago. There is no reason not to stop and admire it and the tall grass and flowers that grow in its midst, covering the dirt that had been dug up so long ago. This resting place was sacred to her, and it had been so long since she had paid it a proper visit.

In the midst of Connor's thoughts someone rushes by the Assassin, knocking into her shoulder with full intent to knock her over. This attempt is not successful, the only audible surprise voiced being a sharp gasp falling past her lips and an exclamation of her friend's name. Kanen'tó:kon's steps are quick and precise as he traverses the tall grass and flowers and begins his ascent of the tree. His swiftness is like nothing the native woman had ever observed in her friend before (he wasn't known for being speedy or graceful in the slightest). Connor narrows her eyes - his climb would only lead to her victory in this game. There were no other trees in which he could leap to, nothing at all to save him once at the top. In fact, it made no sense for Kanen'tó:kon to jump out of hiding just to climb this tree. Not to mention the man wasn't a good climber as far as she could remember. Dragging him out of a river when they were younger was the most prominent example of the man's clumsiness.

With these thoughts in mind Connor takes her time stepping through the grass to follow her friend in his path to the willow. The grass brushes fondly at her clothing, tickles her hands with invitation. The scents of the flowers fill her nose. She does not tread upon the dirt under which her mother lies, but rather maneuvers around it to begin her ascent of the tree. A few loving words are passed on to her mother before her focus is shifted to climbing after her friend.

The blue sky above them seems to waver, the clouds drifting along at an easygoing pace. Surprise is written over her features when, nearing the top of the tree, Kanen'tó:kon offers his hand.

"This branch will not hold our combined weight," her hand is placed into her friend's, tentatively.

"It is sturdy, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Did you not speak once, long ago, of how your own father and mother stood at the top of this great tree?" Kanen'tó:kon helps his friend up onto the branch. It is thick and sturdy, but it wavers as Kanen'tó:kon takes two steps out away from the tree's base to allow Connor room to stand there with him. Their hands remain clasped, a precaution the Assassin feels is necessary because her friend has nothing else to hold onto. There was no trusting the man's balance at this height. Seeing him fall was the last thing she ever wanted to see.

"My mother was smaller than I and my father smaller than you," she only speaks when she is assured that both of them are balanced in this tree. Kanen'tó:kon was not the best in terms of balance but he was holding his stance very well, as though he had no trouble with it.

Oh, how the time had passed since they were young and her friend was chubby and clumsy and always so scared. In the time since then he had grown, matured, developed courage. A part of her regrets not sticking around to see how he came to grow as he had.

"We are fine, my friend. This great tree will not betray us," the man offer his reassurance and Connor is reminded of herself long ago. The many reassurances despite the lingering danger.

"It is beautiful," Connor opts to mention, her unoccupied arm weaving around the base of the tree as her eyes scan the valley. The day is beautiful and warm, windy. This wind tugs at their hair and clothing.

"I am glad it has remained the same since the last time we looked upon it together," Kanen'tó:kon gives his friend's hand a fond squeeze. This prompts half a smile from the Assassin, "Our hard work has been worth it, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Our people remain safe, our land preserved."

"But, for how long?"

It was twice now she had asked him this question. The grown man takes time to contemplate it instead of dismiss it in the way he had years ago.

"Until I breathe my last breath," Kanen'tó:kon turns his gaze to his friend, eager to observe her, "Beyond even that, I am sure. While I may perish, I am assured that you and our brothers will never falter."

Connor finds herself unable to speak to this. Inwardly, there is a dull pain that reverberates in her conscience. She doesn't meet Kanen'tó:kon's eyes that are settled firmly upon her. In the distance birds flutter up from the treetops low in the valley, a cloud of grays and blacks and browns that occupy her vision instead.

"I am glad that you have returned to us, Ratonhnhaké:ton," the native man continues, tugging lightly at the hand he holds in his, "Your space in the longhouse is no longer empty. Our people no longer have to inquire of you or miss you. And soon, you will lead our people as Clan Mother. We will no longer fear the white man and his claim to the lands we protect."

When Connor's eyes fall upon Kanen'tó:kon again, something about the situation has changed. He looks no different, but there is a noise in the distance that draws her full, unwilling attention.

When Kanen'tó:kon opens his mouth to speak once more, taking a step up the branch to come closer to his friend, the scene disappears.

Connor grips the reigns of her horse, the extra shading provided by the cowl she wears makes her feel sudden alienation.

The noise that has come closer is now all too familiar. It sends a shockwave of instinctual panic through her body.

The force of the wind blows the hood from her head, letting her hair fly with it. The horse tramples through mud; a sprinkling of rain showers the forest. Heavy footsteps behind slowly fade with distance. Red disappears in the folds of green and brown. The redcoats were never hard to escape upon the frontier, especially on horseback.

It would be a long trip, as it always was. But this trip would be much, much longer than others passed. As the horse slows to a trot, Connor is reminded of reality by the tomahawk at her side.

Kanen'tó:kon was dead by her hand, and had died thinking that she was a traitor to their people.

Never would they have the chance to climb the willow together like they had promised to do as children. This is a thought that feels so bitter to think, is so painful to acknowledge, that Connor can hardly will herself to keep her eyes open and focused. The pain numbs her, something inside her feels hollow.

The trail is long and steep. It would be days before her destination was reached. It was in these moments where she could escape to another world, a world she could create and mold to perfection inside her head where nobody except herself could see it. It was a place she would resort to visiting only in times of utmost boredom or pain.

It was a world in which Kanen'tó:kon was alive and well, where they together might hunt and laugh and play together as though they were tiny children all over again. Where her mother could be alive and well, where Haytham was a lingering presence in her life and at her side instead of a faraway goal.

A world in which going back home to her people was actually a realistic option in her life. A world in which she could return to Kanien'kehá:ka and stay, forever.


End file.
